


waiting on that bad moon to rise

by smallredboy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Eclipses, Kissing, M/M, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 14:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12728682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: When an eclipse sets over the campsite, Alexander and John's caution gets thrown out of the window.





	waiting on that bad moon to rise

**Author's Note:**

> this was for allbingo, the prompt being eclipse. there Was a solar eclipse in the us around the time this is set but it was on the south, aka thomas jefferson saw it and not our guys. let's just pretend it happened a few coordinates north, yes?
> 
> enjoy!

They're in the campsite when it takes the army by surprise. John exhales and takes Alexander's arm, pointing at the sky. The moon is covering the sun, making everything turn dark. Soon enough people are yelling and soldiers are getting their lamps lit so they can see.   
  
Alexander takes John by the collar of his coat and he gasps before locking eyes with him. It's dark, and with his little knowledge of eclipses, this won't last long. "Kiss me," Alexander tells him, and he stares into the depths of his brown eyes, messy locks falling down to his shoulders.   
  
John doesn't bring up the obvious, how risky they're being. He takes his hand and they lay down against a tree, bushes around them. Alexander puts his hand on his face; it's something he knows all too well, this feeling in the pit of his belly, asking him to do a thousand things he should only do with women.   
  
Their lips brush against one another before they kiss fervently, moving and grazing teeth through the top of their lips. It's too soft, too kind, nothing like Alexander or John. They're both made of war, they belong in the mess of death and destruction that it leaves behind.   
  
Alexander's fingers dig into his clothed shoulder as he kisses him, the moon still in its place. It lasts forever until his lover pulls away and the sun starts clearing, the moon leaving its place in front of it.   
  
"We could have gotten killed," John breathes hard.   
  
"I know," Alexander says, a wicked smile on his lips. He's stunning, long brunet locks falling to his shoulders and eyes gleaming; he's seen too much, and he's only twenty-one. "I don't regret it for a second, though, Laurens."   
  
The way he says his last name is full of _something_. Adoration, love, passion; all plausible. All things men shouldn't feel for other men. But here they are, and as they walk inside their tent, John wouldn't change it for anything.   
  
"Have you written to Martha?" Alexander asks, taking a sip of water from his canteen.   
  
Martha. His wife he married purely because of the child he impregnated her with. He didn't want a child to be born outside marriage, so what could he do— he wasn't in love with her in the least. He didn't have that burn in his belly when he met her that he did have when he met Alexander.   
  
He isn't interested in women, and he loathes it.   
  
"I haven't," he replies, biting his lip. _I don't want to_ , he'd say. Alexander will chastise him if he does, though, and he doesn't want to hear it. His 'she's your wife's could bring him to tears if he tried. He likes to believe he's a bachelor and not... this. A married man without love for his wife.   
  
"Do it soon, yes?"   
  
John shrugs. "Mhm."   
  
Alexander wraps his arms around his middle, pressing a kiss against his temple. It's too domestic, like they aren't in the middle of a war against Britain, like they aren't two men committing an atrocity.   
  
"Hey," Alexander says. "Maybe they're wrong."   
  
He frowns. "Who?"   
  
"Everyone else." There's a pause. "About other men like us."   
  
John sighs and fixes his own hair put in a tight bun, a mess of curls. The fact they aren't the only ones wishing for their same gender makes him lightheaded. At least one of them is out here in America— he sometimes misses Francis.   
  
"They could hear us," he says back, although he's aware it's not really a reply.   
  
"We're in the outskirts of the campsite," he points out. "And even then, I would die for you, Laurens."   
  
He snorts. "You flatter me, Alexander."   
  
They kiss again, lip to lip and tongue to tongue. His heart burns against his chest, all-consuming; he never wants out. He's in love with this man he met two years ago in a bar. Hercules is busy on his spying duty, Lafayette went to get resources in France. They're all alone, and a part of him is glad. They wouldn't understand.   
  
"I'm in love with you," Alexander tells him once he pulls away, putting a hand on his jaw. He brushes his thumb against his cheek, softly and slowly, at a pace John has grown accustomed too. "Maybe they'll kill us for this, but I wouldn't change this feeling for my closest friend."   
  
John grins, they butt heads. "We should... sleep," he says "Tomorrow will be a long day." He tenses up when people outside their tent talk, cussing and saying things he can't quite make out.   
  
"Yeah, we should." Alexander seems on guard too, licking his lips and glancing at the ground. He pushes his hand away before giving him a chaste kiss. He sits down on his sleeping bag before curling inside of it. "Are you coming, Laurens?"   
  
He's about to moan like he did last night as a joke when the people talking seem louder than ever. His shoulders relax once the footsteps go away; he breathes in relief. "Yes, I am, Alexander."   
  
"Then come."   
  
John takes out his coat and puts it in the grass before curling inside their shared sleeping bag. It's cold outside, and they can always say it's just to warm up rather than an intimate moment for both of them. "Your feet are cold," John hisses once he buries his face in the crook of Alexander's neck and pushes him closer.   
  
"Sorry," he laughs, kissing his hair. "Goodnight?"   
  
John's arms are wrapped around his middle; he can smell Alexander's sweat from a day in the field. But he's beautiful, even if a terrible mess that is hard to get out of. He's in love with Alexander Hamilton.   
  
"Good night," he replies, quiet. Alexander smiles and kisses his forehead. It's all too familiar of a feeling— he could be there forever, staring at his lover and wondering how did he get here. From being a normal rich boy to a sodomite involved in a war and abolitionism.   
  
And most importantly, how did he get from being a normal man in college abroad to a man who had _something_ with Francis Kinloch and, now, Alexander Hamilton. 


End file.
